#freewillds

home is the first grave

❛  we should try to find a way no one ends up dead.  ❜ / lindóme for dior ! -✧- @freewillds

Dior did not look up at Lindóme as she spoke, and seemed lost to his own mind as he considered. Any way he looked at the situation, all he could sense was death. Despair. Dishonor. Even if he had returned the Silmaril into the hands of the Fëanorians, how would he know his family to be safe? If they would slay their own kin over swanships to make passage to Middle-earth, why would they not take the Silmaril and then promptly murder them all for having kept it so long from them? Was that not all part of the horrible Oath they had taken?

It could be seen as a disrespect to give up the prize won from the very crown of Morgoth, by his mother and father, over which his grandfather had been murdered. How would they look down upon their heir, giving up that which they fought so hard for? He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought, then looked up at Lindóme who awaited his reply. Dior sighed deeply.

The Slow Arrow catches the hidden meaning in her message, giving a nod in reply. She was right--- the weather was not something to fear, even if storm clouds were forming to match with the current war taking place before them. Centuries of battle in this rebellion and working to overthrow the Evanuris and free their slaves wasn't an easy task. It especially couldn't be easy for the daughter of Elgar'nan and Mythal, standing on the opposite side of her parents.

While Felassan had no doubt Mythal was taking it well, the same couldn't be said about Elgar'nan who had declared himself the God of Vengeance. It said it all right there for him alone.

Rook lifts her head from the text she had been reading. She was trying to figure out this puzzle how to unlock a series of doors. "Really? I find that any room where I have to do puzzles to get around to be rather unnerving." She can appreciate people trying to see the good in things she tries to be one of those people most of the time. Still she had been on edge recently for a variety of reasons though mostly the weight of the world sitting on her shoulders. She was off her game she could usually do these things easily she could usually be positive. Yet here she was fumbling and wondering why Varric would ever pick her to do this job.

↪ 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋 | accepting!

RED SETTING SUN graces the rooftops of Minrathous; in some parts of the city, the roof is the only place the sun can touch your face, each hanging awning and arching walkway blocking warmth, and the Archon's Palace the highest shadow of them all. Far away from where they sit, a plume of bluish smoke raises to greet the sky.

Laika's nose crinkles, freckles squishing with the motion; the smell is sweet, sticky. Must be the night market popping up, she thinks, the street hawkers and satay stands. The city's movements are second nature to her. Some of us take much longer to find our place, she says, and Laika cannot help but smile.

Cole looks up at the sky and his face lights up with an excitement rarely seen. He of course had thoughts racing through his mind things that wanted to spill out. Memories of others things that had happened because of the snow and the could. Yet as he stands there looking up at the sky all those thoughts seem to melt away. He holds out a hand watching the snowflakes land on his palm. He enjoys the intricate patterns they have trying to take them in as they melt away onto his palms. Yes it is cold but it is so beautiful in ways he does not think he could ever describe.

The Bronze Fury shook his hide, knocking free the clumps of dirt and wayward stones that had lodged themselves in and under his rusty scales from his mid-afternoon nap. When that did not work for a particularly stubborn rock that made a home by his hip, he opted to use one of his rear legs. Scratching at his hide like a stubborn mutt.

Finally, with the aid of his black talons, the annoyance popped free and clattered to the bottom of the dragonpit. “I fear the day I become so old and weary I can no longer lift my legs that high.” Vermithor grumbled through their bond, his voice pouring through like molten rock- slow, heavy, and powerful.

Vhagar was even older than him by many years and still in fighting shape. For the most part. He could see the time beginning to catch up with the ancient she-dragon, how often she rested now when she was not called upon to fight. How slow her wingbeats were becoming. It would take some time yet for her to keel over and become a pile of bones.

❪  🐺  ❫　⸻　@freewillds.

luna's pockets are always filled with a bunch of random crap that they've found while out and about. rocks, acorns, old bones, a nice bit of moss, coins, bug exoskeletons, mushrooms, the occasional live frog...